


Why Does it Hurt To Love You

by Uncommon_Lamp



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Gay Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Chimera sucks, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gaslighting, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, My First Fanfic, Spies & Secret Agents, Torture, theres a lot of angst beforehand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:56:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23449651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uncommon_Lamp/pseuds/Uncommon_Lamp
Summary: Basically re-writing the torture scene from Spies are Forever, Tatiana isn't there to save Curt's sorry ass and the "Deadliest Man Alive" may not want to make Agent Mega suffer as badly as he thinks he does.This work has MAJOR SPOILERS FOR SAF. Keep in mind that there's still sort-of-graphic depictions of torture, referenced homophobia, as well as panic attacks later on (and psychological abuse?) The majority of it is going to be fairly dark. So if any of these topics may be triggering to anyone please don't read it, keep the tags in mind.It will have a happy ending, but not for awhile.Title comes from TGWDLM but you probably already knew that
Relationships: Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Comments: 54
Kudos: 179





	1. Page 1

Curt screamed as the pliers violently pulled away from his mouth, one of his teeth between the already bloody metal jaws. Unfortunately, the room was small enough for the pained cry to echo right back into his ears, forcing his hands to tug at their restraints in a vain effort to shield them from painfully ringing.

This wasn't supposed to happen, if only he hadn't been so god damn careless trusting that Russian lady. He of all people should know that he couldn't trust anyone, not only because of his line of work but-

"Well, well, well."

The sickening voice filled his head, involuntarily making him shudder under the hair that hung over his eyes.

"I expected more from you, but I'm afraid that your infamous tolerance for pain is nothing but an outdated reputation, Mega."

Curt tried to gather himself, he wasn't going to give this son of a bitch the satisfaction of knowing how terrified he was. His body shook with a pulsing agony, but forced it to still, he desperately tried to draw out his breaths and relax, thinking peaceful thoughts instead of the fact that a pool of his own blood started to form on the ground. He found himself quickly returning to the farce of a calm and collected demeanor he was trained wear in these kinds of situations. Granted, they were situations that had played out four years ago when he was still... Well, himself, which was a far cry from whoever he tried to be now.

Across the darkened room of course, was the grinning shadow of Owen Carvour, the mask made his expressions stiff but they were still certainly there.

"I really thought you had changed,"

He sighed, casually flicking the tooth on the ground so he could wipe down the pliers.

"But you're still the bloody fucking idiot I remember." 

Owen chuckled and shook his head, only realising he had let the words slip from his mouth a few seconds after, _shit_ he thought, he knew better than to blow his cover so callously. _shit, think of something._

"Berlin, 1956." He blurted out, it was a lie, of course, but he was awfully good at lying.

"I was there Mega, you and your friend put up quite the fight."

His voice faltered ever so slightly on that last sentence, it was the mission he and Curt were on together, they barely escaped with their lives. Admittedly, blowing the whole facility in such a small window of time was a stupid move on their behalf, but it was one hell of a story. 

"If I remember correctly, you were fever sick out of your mind after my men managed to hold you down long enough to start to do some damage, it's a shame that a particular Agent Carvour was stupid enough to go back for you." 

He was deep in thought, it was strange to recount the memory from a new perspective, that mission used to keep him up at night, he had never seen Curt so... Delirious before, he nearly got them expos- 

_No._ those days were over, they meant nothing to him now, less than nothing, he forced the thought out of his head, that memory was _dead,_ it had to be. Agent Carvour was dead, only a ghost of his broken hatred stood in his place. He didn't care about the years of his life wasted on optimistic ideals, now he saw the full picture of government, espionage, everything for what it really was, and god was it terrible. 

"Oh I get it," Curt managed to choke out, the sudden broken silence almost startled both of them.

"By some sick act of God you survived the explosion, maybe held some unhealthy resentment for a few years and then this?

 _Typical Curt, always believing exactly what you're told_. Owen couldn't help but be impressed with his unfaltering stupidity.

"Finally being able to put an end to the spies that totally kicked your ass?"

_He can't be serious..._

Curt held the fakest arrogant grin Owen had ever seen, even from him. A grin that became increasingly harder to maintain after the sudden sound of disbelief and disgust, with a cruel dosage of amusement that exploded from Carvour's lips. 

"Oh bloody fucking hell," he snickered, quietly at first, but then became louder with his own laughter.

"If you mean to threaten me you could have the damned decency to mean it!" 

He let out another wicked roar, crushing whatever hope Curt had of convincing himself he wasn't phased by the looming threat of being tortured to death. He told himself he couldn't break down, he'd die before he let this asshole get off on his pain. 

Owen just looked at him, after all this time, he could still see straight through him like a cheap sheet of glass. He knew all too well how he reacted under pressure, seeing it too many times for comfort back in the field. Carvour had to admit, he used to pity him, his partner's sad efforts to insult his enemies were invariably a sign of uncontrollable panic, a plea for Owen to help him, save him, anything. If it had still been 1957 Agent Carvour would have ripped himself apart before he let their enemies lay another hand on him, too bad Agent Carvour was dead. 

"I think you'll find this time the ending won't be such a pretty one." 

Owen smiled and furrowed his brow like he was thinking, he knelt down in front of him, his eyes never leaving Curt for a second. 

Curt tried to ignore it for a few long, silent moments, forcing his attention down to the hard concrete floor that was speckled with tiny red dots that lead into the. shadows _Calm down, calm down, calm down._

Owen knew he couldn't stand the sight of his own blood, this was going to be easier than he thought.

"There's no one left to rescue you, love." 


	2. Page 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow ok, I didn't expect this to get any attention but thanks for all the hits and kudos,
> 
> this chapter has a lot of introspection on Owen's part so... Angst, lots of angst, and some Curtwen flavored dramatic irony.
> 
> ((TW: Internalized Homophobia, some suicidal undertones? I guess fear?))

Something about how he said "Love" startled Curt, of course that had been Owen's intention, he even muttered it in his natural accent. But he didn't expect him to jolt up so suddenly. His eyes were wide and his mouth hung open ever so slightly for about a fraction of a second. Curt quickly turned as far away as he could from Owen, almost looking... hurt, deeply hurt.

_Don't you fucking dare_

He didn't have the right to do that. No, not after what he had done. Needless to say the man was livid, but forced the anger off his face. He couldn't show that anything Curt did effected him, the only thing he wanted to feel was satisfaction from the pain he was about to inflict. That was the only thing he was allowed to feel. 

Just seeing him brought him back to that night. The fall. Curt barely even tried to save him, his hand slipped right through his and he plummeted into the darkness, _alone_. The last thing he saw before hitting the ground was Curt's turned back as he raced up the stairs. _Then crash_. He had about a second to process what had happened before the whole place went up in flames.

That night he had been given the truth. Curt didn't care about him, about anyone. To Curt he was nothing but a few one night stands and an excuse to be as God damn reckless as he wanted. Someone to pick up his slack and clean up after his messes. He was a fool to think the bastard ever loved him, no matter how many times he said it, no matter how many times Owen said it back, he couldn't base his life around lies.

It was better he had found out sooner, no, he was glad he found out sooner, Curt didn't even try to save him, maybe he wanted him dead from day one, one less sodomite in the world, right? He had a new purpose now, Chimera had given him everything, including his revenge.

Curt visibly winced as he saw "The Deadliest Man Alive" reach for the pliers again. Instinctively hunching over and ducking his head down. _Dammit._ He gritted his teeth, pulling at whatever was holding his hands behind the chair despite knowing it was useless. _How long is this supposed to go on for? Hours? Days?_ His mind refused to even process the thought of it continuing for another 10 minutes. It wasn't the first time he had been in this situation, but there was always Owen. God, if his partner could see where he was now, he'd be disgusted. He'd be disgusted by lots of things Curt had done to himself in the last 4 years. He couldn't even get out of this scrape without him, he really was pathetic.

"You sick bastard."

He rasped, his jaw still tense. Owen went back to kneeling in front of him, with an evil smirk that looked even colder under the mask. 

"Why don't you just kill me already?" 

Owen stopped, taking a moment to think. He figured he could just give the answer he gave most of his victims, that 'he enjoyed hurting people', 'he didn't just feel like putting a bullet in their head' and so on and so fourth.

But this time was different, he wanted to make Curt Mega suffer like he suffered. Alone in that fucking warehouse as it burned to the ground, fighting for hours to stay alive, he lied there for days on end, experiencing unimaginable pain. Nearly every bone in his body was either broken or shattered, there was blood everywhere, and that was before the charges went off not far from the bottom of the building. All because of something his "partner" did. 

Ironically enough through all that time he only thought of Curt, all the missions they served, the memories they shared. Part of him refused to let go of the hope that he would come back for him.

Luckily he was taught to control his emotions. Chimera had told him the truth, given him a new life, he was free of the frail, weak Owen Carvour thought he was in love, he didn't need love, especially not Curt's. 

But something tugged at him, like an urge that he couldn't keep bottled up.

And it hurt.

He shouldn't be hurting. 

"Because I want to make you feel the exact same pain that I felt when you left me for dead." 

He mumbled, just loud enough for Curt to hear. Pausing between each word, barely even thinking as he said them. He felt like he was speaking from his chest, honestly, painfully.

Tears started to prick in his eyes. 

He started to feel an ache in his stomach. 

_Damn you, Damn you, this is your fault._

He ignored Curt's faintly confused expression.

"Is that what you want? You prick."

He let his hand fall on a Hollister attached to his belt. 

"W-what?" 

The question caught Curt off guard, he didn't know how to respond. His mouth held slightly open like an idiot, he even looked Owen in the eyes, they were a bit more solemn then they were before. 

"You heard what I said, do you want me to kill you or not?" 

"I.... I don't know." The question brought him back to his own grief. He spent hours awake at night, thinking how it should have been him, Cynthia sure thought so, and the reason it hurt so much when she said it was because part of him agreed. 

When Curt looked up again he saw a pistol not far away from his head.

"I asked you a question." He sounded condescending, but sad as well. 

"I gave you an answer." 

He spat, only realizing the implications of what The Deadliest Man was offering as he stepped closer.

Was he really ready to die?

It was a hell of a lot better than any more of this bullshit. Still he knew a quick death would be uncharacteristically merciful for a deranged psychopath, what was going on? He should have been more confused than he was but at this point but he didn't care. 

"I don't know if I'd be better off alive." he started, the honesty in the words frightened him. 

"I haven't been in this job for 4 years, God knows I've hurt more than I've helped." 

Carvour let his expression go softer, tilting his head.

Curt sat up straight, readying himself for the blow, he made his choice, no matter how cowardly it was. This _was it, this was really it._

"The only thing that's kept me going all this time was my... Partner, Owen."

**_*BLAM*_ **

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The knee... the bastard had shot him in the knee. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I know it's a day late but hopefully I'll have another chapter done by tomorrow.


	3. Page 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your support! 
> 
> ((TW: more depictions of torture, it gets a bit scarier I guess? I don't know.))

"You lying son of a bitch!" 

Owen shouted, much louder than he wanted to. His body shook, his blood boiled, and he tried to hold back the tears that were coming into his eyes. 

Curt wailed in pain, trying to restrain it by clenching his teeth, he couldn't see, he couldn't think, the only thing he could feel was the sharp burning in his leg. Blood gushed out too fast for comfort. There was a strange look of fear and anger in his eyes, shooting his head back up before letting another hiss escape his lips. 

Carvour gripped the gun tighter, taking a step closer to Curt and striking him across the face with it. He wanted to hit him again, he wanted to beat him until he couldn't even recognize his face, but thought better of it, Curt didn't deserve to die that quick, not after that. 

Instead, he grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him as far away from the chair as he could. "Say that to my face." 

He shook him violently from side to side when he didn't answer.

"Say that the my _fucking_ face!" 

Everything was blurry, he couldn't even choke out words if he tried. His arms and legs had stopped working, even if his hands weren't tied around his back he'd just fall over if he ran. He had escaped after being tortured before, worse than this even, but he knew he had no where to go. 

"That's what I thought."

Owen threw him back down, walking away to consult other weapons Curt couldn't see in the dark. He wanted to cry and scream for help but he knew it wasn't any use, besides that was probably exactly what this sick fuck wanted. He glanced back down at his knee, the crimson and was all too visible against the fabric. He cringed, trying to look away, but he couldn't scrub the image from his mind. 

"Who was he to you?" Owen swallowed hard, surely Curt wouldn't keep up this stupid charade. He grabbed a bat from his bag and swung it over his shoulder. "If you try and pull any shit I'll bust your other leg." Owen needed to hear it from him, he needed to hear Curt tell him the truth. 

"Why-" 

"Answer the damn question." 

Curt swallowed hard, he knew he was about to admit something he shouldn't. The prick wanted to humiliate him, he probably already knew, but he was making him say it anyway, and he didn't have a choice.

"I loved him."

Owen let out a pained laugh, "so you want to do this the hard way..." 

Curt let out an unrestrained scream as the bat came down against his shin. His head fell against the top of the chair. Owen didn't even want to think about how painful it might've been, it's what he deserved.

When Curt didn't stop yelling he had to talk over him.

"For your sake I hope that you realize I can easily hurt you whenever I please, so I'll ask you again, what was he to you?" 

Curt spat blood on the floor, tears rolled down his cheeks. 

"I'd rather not break your pretty face, love."

That was a lie, but he had conducted enough interrogations to know what to say when people got unresponsive.

Curt shuddered at the word again.

"I loved him." 

He was practically sobbing, his body shook. Owen swung that bat again, hitting the same place, only harder. 

"I think I remember telling you not to lie to me."

Owen became more impatient, there was rage coursing through his veins and fought the urge to kill him then and there, but again, thought better of it. 

"I loved him God damnit!" 

Now he was crying, hard. The pain in his legs was overwhelming, he was going to die, he was going to die and there was nothing he could do. 

Owen could feel his heart beating out of his chest, pure, unbridled hatred filled his eyes, swinging the bat down to his other knee. 

"I loved him-I loved him!"

"Then why did you leave me to die!?" 

.

.

.

_Shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this ones a bit short, I'm trying to keep a consistent schedule but I felt compelled to re-write a lot of what I already had. 
> 
> Another thing, I don't want to romanticize abuse or justify anything Owen is doing. "oh no, uwu sad boi" doesn't cancel out the fact that this is pretty f-cked up. I do not support this Character's actions even though I'm writing about them, even though I plan to give this fic a kind of happy ending, chances are I'm not going to ignore the content of the chapters leading up to it. 
> 
> Murder is bad, don't do it. 
> 
> Anyways, hopefully next update will be on the 12th, have great days/evenings!


	4. Page 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paying attention to pre-planned story structure? Never heard of her 
> 
> And it's late again, I really wanted to make this one a bit longer since page 3 was shorter, I love writing this but it's probably never going to be on time. 
> 
> ((TW: tiny little allusion to alcoholism, guilt tripping, depictions of pain, panicked thoughts))

_October 27th 1956_

_"I can't believe Cynthia would do that to you, you're the best damned agent she's got_ , _which, isn't saying much, but she's got no right to-."_

_"Oh piss off, I appreciate the sympathy Owe, but you know I take my job very seriously."_

_"Curt, love,_ _you got stabbed, broke two ribs, and God knows what else, all because you didn't listen to me when I told you that I would be fine on my own."_

 _"But they were hurting_ _you."_

_"Darling, I'm capable of working my way out of dangerous situations, and, if need be, putting myself in them for the sake of the operation."_

_"Fuck the operation."_

_"Curt, people could have gotten killed without us, it's worth the scrapes and bruises to know that we're actually doing some good, that is, every time we don't screw things up."_

_"We?"_

_"You, most of the time."_

_"Blunt, but true, go ahead and say it, I'm a cocky, arrogant dumbass who can't handle being a spy."_

_"Maybe so, but I suppose we're only human."_

_"You're so cute when you smile like that."_

_"Go to sleep, you idiot, you're halfway drunk."_

_"Halfway, that should count for something shouldn't it?"_

_"God, you really are a fool, Mega."_

_"Mega? So I'm in trouble now?"_

_"Oh please, you know I could never stay mad at you. Now get your ass in bed, and try not to pull the stitches like you did last time."_

_"Fine, fine, that's fair, oh, and Owen?."_

_"Yes dear?"_

_"I love you."_

_"I love you too, for ever and ever."_

_______________________________________________________

The bat slipped through his fingers and made an awful clattering sound when it hit he floor.

Curt had the most pitiful expression that Owen had ever seen, his mouth hung open, dripping blood on the concrete floor. He could see the streams of tears still flowing from his eyes. And his eyes, oh God his eyes, they weren't squinted shut in pain or agony, they were wide open, glassy and somewhat mindlessly looking at the floor. 

Something about him like that made Owen's stomach turn. What the hell was going on? He had killed hundreds of people, tortured more, he had seen men within an inch of life and it hadn't so much as phased him. It took him a moment to even remember he had just about blown his cover, if Curt was even conscious enough to have heard him. Something about all of this just made him uneasy, he started to feel sick. 

But he was still lying to him. This was his job, and he still had to do it. 

"I'm only asking one more time, Curt." 

His voice was low and quiet, he reached for the mask. _An eye for an eye, love._

"Who was he to you?"

He dug his nails into the plaster. 

Curt shuddered.

 _"_ I-I" 

Was it worth lying about? The prick clearly didn't believe him, but saying that him and his partner were simply mutuals would simply kill him. 

_"I..."_

Curt didn't need to be reminded of the shooting pain in his legs, every time he recalled where he was and what was happening to him it was like getting hit all over again. The sharp ache in his gums never seemed to fade, when he tried to move his body he saw the blood or heard some hellish noise of scraping bones and went limp again. 

_Fuck it, he's going to kill me anyway._

"I loved him." 

Panic clouded his mind, he shut his eyes, awaiting whatever was supposed to come next. 

Owen's face went cold. Discarding the mask on the ground. 

"Well that's a shame, darling." 

He clenched his teeth, forcing a wicked smile across his mouth.

"He sure as hell doesn't love you." 

Owen had always wondered how far someone could be pushed into grief. He'd seen quite a few of his victims lose their minds here and there. Looking at him with terror etched into their features, crying out for their respective gods or guardians. Pretty much anything that came into their feeble little brains were given life by their mouths like electricity through a wire. Lots of the people he had killed especially slow begged him for mercy, he had even imagined that some of them were Curt. He thought he had seen everything at this point. 

Nothing could ever prepare him for this. 

He thought he had seen pain and hopelessness before. He thought he had seen what grief looked like, above all, he believed he was desensitized and above guilt or remorse for any of his actions. Now he had the additional sore feeling of being proven wrong. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn't been thinking straight, maybe it was the anticipation, hell, it was probably just Curt being so physically destroyed but refusing to give up that pathetic confidence. Something continued to bother him, this was supposed to be liberating, he was supposed to be content after this. He didn't have much time to ponder the idea before Curt began to speak in a hauntingly broken voice. 

"no..." 

That was the first word, after what seemed like the longest few seconds that had ever come to pass. 

"no... this... this isn't..." 

Curt could barely speak, his face twisted in confusion. 

"this..." 

His eyes bolted around the room, Owen could swear he could hear his heart beating. 

As hard as Carvour tried to seem apathetic toward him, his words came out slightly manic with anger and sadness. 

"Hello, love." 

Crouching in front of him, He reached out and lifted some of the messed up hair from Curt's eyes. 

"Surprised to see me?" 

There wasn't any chance to be sentimental or conciser what was happening with him, he needed to hit the final nail in the coffin.

Curt flinched away, blinking, convinced what he was seeing wasn't real. The pain must have gone to his head, nothing about this made sense, this was just his sick imagination. For four years he had seen Owen everywhere he went, when he had started to forget his face he found him again in the tiniest idiosyncrasies of his life, and not just through the bottom of a bottle. Was Owen really alive? Maybe this was all just some fucked up hallucination. He couldn't tell which reality frightened him more.

"Damn, I really thought this was going to be more interesting"

"this.. this isn't real, y-you're de- _Owen_ is dead."

The Brit let out a slightly annoyed sigh.

"Owen Carvour, yes, killed in action, 1957, real tragedy, then again, you didn't really see him die did you?" 

The sneer dropped from his face, he rose from his crouched position to light a cigarette. 

"No, no, no, the great 'Curt Mega' was too busy escaping the facility, and later gave the report that there had been a fatality during the mission."

He took a matchbox from his pocket. 

"Of course, it didn't matter. That was exactly what he wanted, Mega's personal plans involved exposing Carvour for sexual perversion. But, to keep up the image of a grieving man he left his agency for what? Three years now? And..." 

Owen took a long drag on the cigarette, gracefully tilting his head back and blew smoke to the ceiling. 

"... suddenly reappeared to start playing hero again." 

He noticed Curt's face had turned pale. The American's eyes went from wide open to shut closed between his erratic, labored breaths. Owen could almost see the gears turning in his head, but he didn't leave him to his thoughts for too long. 

"The Owen Carvour you knew passed that night, yes. But here's a little advice: people don't always die when it's written on paper. Maybe you should have thought of that before conducting that little stunt of yours."

"Owe-" 

"The real misfortune lies in the truth that I can't possibly hurt you as much as you deserve. You're weak, Curt, you always have been. I can torture you, sure, but nothing's ever going to compare to the hell you put me through after you decided to murder me." 

"Owen..." 

Curt sobbed, he didn't want to believe this was happening. 

"I wouldn't try denying it, love, it's not going to be any use. Did you really not think that I wouldn't figure it out?" 

"It's not true!"

Curt pulled forward but the restrains held fast, the desperation in his voice sent tremors through Carvour's body as he jolted back. 

"It's a little late to beg for your life, don't you think? Honestly, It's quite unprofessional." 

He spoke in a soft, patronizing way, walking circles around the chair, lingering when he passed behind him to spread a further sense of unease. 

_This isn't happening, this isn't happening, Owen would never hurt me, why is he hurting me? Curt's_ eyes were red and dry but tears forced their way into them yet again. _Hes hurting me, he's hurting me._

"Please, you have to believe me-"

" _I_ have to believe _you?_ I don't have to believe _anything!_ "

His voice shook, unable to tell if he took enjoyment from the fact that Curt startled when he shouted at him. He couldn't tell if he took enjoyment from any of this. He had to collect himself yet again.

"I'm working for a new agency now, I guess you could call us a 'secret society' or something of that nature. Our goals are based around gathering private information via networking technology, things beyond your feeble comprehension, I'm afraid." 

He stopped just behind the chair, leaning in and talking into The Agent's ear

"Information is power, Curt Mega, you of all people should know that."

A realisation hit Curt like a freight train. 

"No... you can't just-"

"I can't just what? Exploit other people's secrets? Hold them for ransom? Since when did you care so much about morality?"

"I care about people like us, Owen-" 

"Us? Don't fucking talk about _us!"_

Curt felt the point of a knife against his chest. Both's breath was erratic, strands of hair had fallen over Owen's face, making him look like a dangerous lunatic.

Just then, something seemed to have snapped in Curt. There was only terror in the man's eyes, he pressed his back against the metal chair as far as he could. He finally showed him that he was truly, afraid. 

"Owen... Please... Whatever this agency told you... Please, don't go through with it, there's good in you, I've seen it, please. Think about the damage this is going to do."

He begged, he never begged. 

Owen forced a laugh. "You honestly think I care about the implications?" He pressed the knife harder into the skin of his chest where his ribs were, still not hard enough to draw blood. Curt's breath caught in his throat.

"I'm helping them because I know it's going to hurt you, you won't be able to stop us, you won't be able to stop _me_. I'm going to tear the world to the fucking ground and there's nothing you can do."

He took another puff on the cigarette and blew the smoke into Curt's face. 

"Too bad you won't be around to see it." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I can get the next chapter out as soon as possible, but school work and keeping up with friends is kind of kicking my ass. 
> 
> The more I'm writing this, the more I just want to write a whole bunch of fluff, and I'll probably do that once I finish this one. 
> 
> Anyways, get ready for some more angst in the next chapter :)


	5. Page 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your guy's comments are giving me life, seriously, thank you so much. 
> 
> OH BOY brace yourselves for this one, this hurts me just as much as it hurts you, get ready for angst. 
> 
> ((TW: Torture, Referenced Homophobia, F slur, suicidal undertones)

Curt's head had never been so utterly full, yet devoid of thoughts as it was now. If this was a hallucination then why did everything feel so real? Owen, it was him, his face, his hair, his eyes, his voice. Oh God, his voice, it filled up his mind until it echoed off the walls of his skull. The way his calloused hands brushed over his shoulder, the way he walked, how he always smelled like expensive cigarettes. Every little detail about him was so painfully nostalgic, yet tainted, like the memories of him were slowly burning and bubbling like a strip of film under a hot light. 

His sweet and gentle voice slowly faded into the cold and threatening one in front of him.

The soft way that he had once held him or played with his hair were bloody punches and sharp tugs that forced him to look into the single blinding light of the otherwise pitch black hotel room.

His body felt like it was on fire. Raging heat radiated from his leg as he tried not to focus on the small puddles of crimson on the ground. Nothing was dull anymore, every injury seemed like it was being inflicted again and again with every passing minute. His blood boiled, his stomach closed in on itself, his skin felt like it was getting ripped apart cell by cell. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, he was hurting. 

He couldn't even begin to comprehend it. His partner, the man he loved, the man he _killed._ Every single day of the last miserable four years he dreamt up all the ways that night could have gone. He had imagined his life if Owen were still in it, and the snap back to reality always hit him harder than he could handle. 

He tried to forget. He tried to forget so much. Drinking himself into an early grave, trying to obscure his face, confuse his features.

"Let the misery die with the memories"

That's what Cynthia had always said. 

Owen had always said it was 'too dangerous to keep pictures of him lying around' so it was never hard. But he'd eventually sober enough to panic and fix the broken shambles of what he remembered. Of course, a little more of Owen slipped away every time.

He blamed himself.

He hated himself. 

All the time they had spent together slowly went up in ash and smoke. 

The smoke. 

His attention snapped back when he realized he was covered in a hazy cloud of the stuff. He coughed on the air. The thick fog was filling his lungs. He couldn't breathe. 

The silence broke with a fit of violent coughing.

As soon as he sucked in a breath of the dense and stagnant air, a hand forced open his jaw, shoving the pliers into his mouth that latched onto another one of his molars. 

He felt another wave of fear conjure in the pit of his stomach, raging like a violent tempest.

Every thing was dizzy.

Everything hurt. 

And Owen Carvour was the one hurting him. 

Without even meaning to, he looked right into the man's eyes. He held his breath, a deafeated whimper came from deep in his throat. Maybe if it was just another one of his enemies holding the tool he would have jerked away, continued to scream for help, for anything. The reason he had stayed alive so long in the past was his resilience, if he died, he wasn't going without a fight. 

But instead, he just let the look of terror and despair distort his features. He accepted it. He deserved it.

If it was anyone else in front of him he'd fight back.

But it wasn't.

This was Owen. 

And Owen had every right to hurt him. 

*

_This isn't right._

Owen was not a sympathetic person, or at least he hadn't been one after what had happened.

Nothing would have logically prompted him to think that there was anything possibly getting in his way.

Curt was the enemy, Curt was the one who left him to die without a second thought. 

Still, the man in front of him looked horrified, he was shaking. Owen didn't know what was coming over him.

He released the grip on the pliers, removing his hand and slowly stepped a few places away. 

"Dammit."

He whispered. 

"And to think I wouldn't fall for your manipulative bullshit." 

He let the pliers fall to the ground, and rested his fist against his forehead. 

Curt had caught his breath, his head hung over his lap somewhat lifelessly. Heaving, he unsuccessfully tried to calm himself. 

"Always just slipping by with that cocky demeanor of yours and then flashing that wounded puppy-dog act. That's what this is isn't it, Mega?" 

When he was met with no answer he kicked the pliers against the metal chair, making an abrupt crash that make Curt flinch. 

"You know, it really killed me when you walked away." 

He tightened his fists, looking down over the man he once knew. His tone was softer but still charged with the same hatred.

"Because back then, you said you'd never let me go, and I was ignorant and stupid enough to trust you, can you believe that?" 

He forced his words through a subtle lump in his throat, absent-mindedly twirling the cigarette in his fingers. 

"Owe-" 

Curt's head snapped back with a punch aimed directly at his nose. A loud crack was all he needed to know it was broken if it wasn't already. He couldn't restrain a choked sob, this was all too much. 

"Stop it."

Tears welled into his eyes.

"Stop doing that fucking- that fucking thing!"

His hands balled into fists.

"Stop pretending like you care! Like you ever fucking cared, Curt!" 

Owen's voice grew deafening, in all the years the American knew him, he rarely was out of control of his emotions. He'd never get used to him yelling. For as long as he lived (not that he expected to be living for very long after this) that sound, that awful tone would sound like a scratched record. Unnaturally distorting the music of his voice. 

Curt didn't know how long Carvour stood staring at him, he didn't know if he expected a response, a false confession maybe. There was no way to tell what thoughts were going through that man's head. 

"Was it hard, love?" 

When Curt opened his eyes again he could only see the fuzzy outline of his shape, his back was turned.

"All those times you claimed to love me just so you could expose me?"

Owen shook his head.

"I'll bet your skin crawled when you touched me, that you shuttered and grimaced when you kissed me. Isn't that right?"

There was no answer.

"Was it Houston that put you up to it? Was it her mission to ruin the lives of all the other faggots in MI6 or just mine?" 

Curt writhed at that, he could feel his soul break into a million sharp fragments with him being too weak to talk. He opened his mouth, but his throat was so dry and sore from the screaming nothing could break through. 

Owen's voice faltered again.

"You're a shit actor, I was just desperate enough to believe you then."

There was nothing he could say to convince him, he finally understood that. That revelation left a burning pit in his already broken body. He would sob if he could, that dread, that pain, that endless void of indescribable hopelessness that he'd lost the only thing he ever loved, _again._

He hardly cared that he'd die soon anymore. That was just inevitable. Whatever hell that awaited him with its hungry, gnashing jaws would be less painful than this. This was agony. Pure and unfiltered suffering that hollowed his bones and corroded his soul. 

Nothing, absoloutely nothing was close to this.

Not the rigorous training he'd undergone that still plagued his mind years into his career.

Not the torture or combat he'd seen. 

Not even losing Owen.

This was the worst kind of pain.

The kind that made you wish you were already dead. 

The last thing he remembered before everything faded away was the sound of electricity and the feeling of a dull shock in his shoulder. 

Then nothing but blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, so, at long, long last, the next chapter is finally here! And let me just say I am so, so sorry for how long it took. I stopped working on it some time in May because I wanted to finish my school year first, but then my motivation completely dropped and I got occupied with other stuff. But! As of this past week I got inspired to actually post another chapter so yay, hopefully this one is decent? I promise that Curt's not dead, I promised y'all a semi-happy ending, remember?
> 
> Ok, I wanted to say another thing, as this is my first fanfic, there's probably lots of problems in the structure and such, and I want to say I'm really sorry.  
> 👉👈 When I started this I was just kinda putting work out, not really expecting anyone to notice it. However, this got a whole lot more attention than I anticipated, which I'm truly grateful for. I just think there's more talented people out there who's worthy of the attention? It could just be the self deprecation talking,, but if I knew this was going to take off like it did when I started out, I think I would have worked harder on making my stuff more readable. 
> 
> Anyway, those are my thoughts, hopefully the next update won't take 3 months to publish, thank you so much for your comments and support!


	6. Page 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((TW: vague panic attack, descriptions of gore))

Everything fell silent.

The body fell limp against the chair.

Carvour took the wires from the skin and let them fall to the floor. 

He just wanted it to end. 

He took a step back to look at what he'd done. Curt lay lifeless and bleeding nearly all over his body. His face was a gory mess of blood, broken and bruised but still recognizable enough to make the other man shudder. This was what he wanted, right? Years had been put into hating the only person he ever grew to love, all the nights he'd lay awake and think of how he betrayed him.

Now the deed was done and he just felt... 

Empty.

The overwhelming vivid blackness in his heart was still alive and present although his thirst for revenge should have been slaked. It had to have been. Finally being able to put an end to the man who ruined his life was a victory he loathed to think of never accomplishing. Though now it seemed all for nothing. He'd enjoyed killing in the past, those pitiful expressions of terror and piercing screams were music to his goddamn ears; his remorselessness was what made him such an excellent hitman. "The Deadliest Man Alive" was a character that allowed himself to ignore pity and the liability of it, so why was he shaking? 

He thought back to that night. That awful night. Blowing the base was Curt's idea, after all, it must have been so easy to just shove him off the railing and watch him plummet into the abyss. Of course, he didn't even have to lay a finger on him in the end. 

Owen lit another cigarette. 

During his time recovering it was the Chimera agents that helped him see the truth, and at first, he didn't want to believe them. Even when presented with documents of what was actually happening in the American Secret Service he refused to listen. He went through every possible explanation in his small, feeble mind that what happened wasn't what it really was: a setup. It took months, years even to come around. He was younger then, stupid and trusting and god knew, weak. Everyone in his new agency, including him wanted to believe that the incident made him a stronger man. Finally, he was able to shed the last coil of empathy and become the weapon he should have been years ago. Though, deep down, he envied Curt for being able to move on, if he ever cared for him in the first place. Sure, his job had him retire for a few years but it's not like he spent that time thinking of him.

It was easy to fake grief, even he could do it. 

"I wonder if anyone doubted you, old boy."

He muttered, talking as if he could hear him. 

"Say some kind words over an empty casket, forget a few weeks later like nothing ever happened, oh, I'm sure Cynthia loved that."

He laughed, tears welling back up in his eyes.

"Ladies and gentlemen, were here to celebrate the memory of my dear _friend,_ Owen Carvour." He thought of Curt on a podium shedding fake tears while everyone stood and watched. 

"May he rest in peace!"

His tone was loud and deeply hurt with a repressed pain. His voice echoed in the small room, almost like he was trying to awaken a dead man. Owen balled up his fist and struck Curt with it again, and again, and again, until his limbs got weak with his own sobs and his knuckles were drenched in the agent's blood. Eventually, when he could barely muster the strength to raise his arm he rested his hands on the arms of the chair, trembling. He felt sick with a sort of bitter sorrow he couldn't explain.

He wanted to feel whole again, to move on and take his pain out on the rest of this godforsaken. To live, being of sound mind that he had some control of his life, but even now he was denied that. Carvour slid to the floor, resting his head against the side of the chair. He hardly had the strength to think, and the smoke wasn't even enough to calm his nerves like it used to be. He couldn't stand to look at that man's face, though his shrieks of agony never left his mind. The way he'd looked at him, it was how he didn't even put up a fight with the gun held to his head that festered in him like a wound. He tried to convince himself that his ex-lover was nothing more than a liar, but the thought of being wrong terrified him even more. 

"I loved you once."

He whispered softly, letting his tears fall to the floor. It felt good to admit, though it made his heart burn with regret. He sacrificed everything to hold him, to hide from the rest of the world to be with him, and for what? It wasn't enough, Curt never loved him back and every good thing in his life was nothing more than a farce. Some days he wondered if he was just alive to suffer, the two men had done unforgivable things in their line of work; it wasn't entirely unbelievable that he deserved it. The fall should have killed him, and if not that, then the blast that followed. To say he went through hell in the past years would be an understatement, but now that he was a step closer to peace, he felt just as lost as before. 

He looked back up at his handiwork. Owen couldn't tell if the man was really dead but it wouldn't have taken a doctor to tell that he was close to it. 

Still, something didn't feel right about all of this. Even under the threat of torture, the man before him still proclaimed he loved him. In the wrong hands, that information could've gotten him dismissed, or worse. And clearly, based on his reaction, he didn't know that he was in the room with him. 

Owen forced himself to shake that thought off.

"Quite a brilliant little rouse you had there, love."

He chuckled, tiredly. 

But deep down his mind slowly unraveled with the possibility, however slim, that he'd tormented and had held such burning hate for an innocent man. 

He stood to face him, Curt nearly looked exactly the same if not a few years older. 

His thoughts began to race.

_How are you seriously considering this? Are you so pathetic you'd actually believe him?_

Everything he'd ever been told about Curt Mega could have been lies within lies. He felt surrounded by locked doors, unable to find even a scrap of truth. 

_He fooled you Carvour, for years, it was all an act and you fell for it._

Everything began to scream within him in the anguish of what he could have just done. 

_You're better than this._

All the times he could've died, all the times Curt had saved his life and Owen his, were those just intricate deceptions as well? 

_Chimera told you the truth, you just couldn't handle it, move the fuck on with your life and forget about him._

No.

The more he began to think, the more nothing made sense, the more things fell apart. Despite the proof, despite the organization, despite even himself, he couldn't help but doubt the validity of it.

Slowly, carefully, he approached the body. Curt's once white dress shirt and tuxedo were tainted with an ugly wine red ichor. His destroyed legs looked bent and disfigured, entirely beyond repair. Owen looked over what he'd done, anxiety had rooted deep in his mind like a fast-growing weed, wrapping around and suffocating him and all he thought he knew. 

Trapped in what seemed like an endless fluorescent hellscape, he caught a glimpse of something glimmering underneath Curt's top. Desperate for answers, and after several moments of unsettling deliberation, he moved the fabric aside. 

Immediately, there was no more uncertainty over who had told the truth.

And Owen fell to the floor in regret. 

********

_"What's this?"_

_"Open it."_

_"You know I hate surprises, Carvour."_

_"Well, I have a sneaking suspicion you might enjoy this one."_

_..._

_"Owen I-"_

_"Curt, I love you more than anything. I know it's not something we can do officially, and even if we could, we have our agencies to worry about amongst thousands of other factors, you know I'm no fool, darling. That aside, in an ideal world where we wouldn't have to care about the law, hell, our own lives. I still want to know... Curt, are you crying?"_

_"No, I just have something in my eye, you ass..."_

_"Will you marry me?"_

********

It was a ring. 

A golden band on a thin silver chain that hung around his neck, the same one he'd given him so long ago.

It was then Owen knew Curt wouldn't risk keeping unless he felt he had to. Unless he wanted to. No one else knew about it except for them, he'd proposed to him in a shabby hotel room in 1956, he remembered it all too well. After Curt accepted they resolved to take the safer choice of wearing the rings around their necks instead of their hands but it was there all the same. 

Owen's reality shattered completely, he'd stumbled back, completely in shock, and fell to his knees. 

He didn't know for certain, that was impossible, but he couldn't ignore this. He didn't still love him, of that he was certain. Too much had happened between them for that to ever exist again. 

He ran his fingers through his hair, breathing faster every second. His heartbeat drowned out everything else and his eyes were so full of tears he couldn't blink. 

With a trembling hand, he checked the pulse of the other man, _still breathing._

It would take more than a miracle for him to survive, and if he was going to do anything it had to be fast. 

He ripped off his tracker given to him by Chimera and threw it to the floor, shattering it into a million pieces. 

If he remembered correctly, Curt's mother had a safe house, he just prayed to whatever God was listening that it was still there. 

He had too many questions to comprehend, too much anger and fear to process, but he couldn't think about them now. Right now the only thing that mattered was the sliver of faith that kept him going, that kept him running for the exit with the American's arm draped over his shoulders. 

He was beyond forgiveness, beyond love, beyond any kind of hope.

But maybe, just maybe there was still time to help Curt. 

Maybe there was still hope for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well there you go, if you've made it this far then thank you so much. as I've said before, I was not expecting so many positive responses and I am so grateful for all the kudos and comments.
> 
> Like I said, maybe this will become a fix-it (but don't count on it, school is kicking my ass) with even more angst, but who knows. I think Owen and Curt's characters are just really neat and we stan representation in this house. 
> 
> Again, thank you all so much for the support!! Ily!!


End file.
